


Blue In The Night

by margesimpson



Series: indulgence [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Not Canon Compliant, Pregnancy, Sexual Content, Vignette, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 18:51:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18707911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margesimpson/pseuds/margesimpson
Summary: All of Westeros is at peace. What a perfect time to bring their child into the world.





	Blue In The Night

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read the other parts (and you SHOULD) then you get the general jest of things.
> 
> I thought this was going to be way longer than it actually is in the state it is in now (I may add more to this part later).
> 
> Also I suck at Geography and time like season 7 of Got so I'm sorry if the delivery of letters makes 0 sense.
> 
> (also no conflict or anything mildly interesting beyond characters talking because that's what I do)

Arya sighs as she reads her sister's letters. It seemed that every fortnight since they landed in Pentos, Sansa would send a raven to Winterfell detailing their stay. Not that Arya was keeping track.

 

The letters weren't thrilling. No tales of heists, thieves, murders, assassinations or political intrigue. Just about what sites she had seen that day, how many new friends she had made, which fruits she discovered, the funny thing Podrick said that day, Brienne’s war story of the night, and all and everything about Tyrion Tyrion Tyrion blah blah blah.

 

It wasn't that Arya wasn't happy to hear from her sister. It was that she had no idea what to say in reply. Domestic life hadn't been in her vocabulary. Every time she picked up her quill to begin to write, she found herself freeze.

 

When she receives the letter in which Sansa announces her pregnancy, Arya decides to talk to Bran.

 

“Gendry is literate,” Bran states.

 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Arya tightens her fur coat.

 

“He could scribe for you.”

 

Arya doesn't know if she loves her brother or wants to punch the Three Eyed Raven. Her relationship with her siblings are still as trying as ever.

 

Gendry was very willing to scribe for Arya, albeit nervous if he will suffice. Arya tells him it's better than sending nothing, and it only improves Gendry’s confidence by a small margin.

 

Arya finds this system much easier. She would just talk and Gendry would filter it all through his writing.

 

Arya talks of how nothing truly remarkable has been happening in Winterfell. The people are joyous and praying for their Lady’s journey and safe return, with baby and husband in tow. Arya’s training of the upcoming guards and soldiers is going steadily. Bran sits day in and day out in godswood and he claims he's patrolling Winterfell, but Arya thinks he's asleep half of the time. She talks of Bronn and what an arse he is, so he's as normal as ever. She also mentions Jon and how he is always asking of Sansa, so they must start writing to each other instead to give Arya some peace of mind.

 

Gendry writes this all in the politest language he can manage.

 

“What about the baby?”

 

“What?” Arya whips around in surprise. She had no idea that it was already evening.

 

“Aren't you happy to be an aunt?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Gendry smiles mischievously.

 

“Then I'll put that in.”

 

* * *

 

 

Every time Sansa comes across a bird, she can't stop herself from reaching toward it to pet its head.

 

When Arya’s letter arrives, Sansa does the same. Both she and Tyrion watch in awe as the raven doesn't flutter away, but instead lean into her touch.

 

* * *

 

 

None of them had expected the local community of Pentos to be so…enthralled by Sansa’s pregnancy.

 

They had no idea who Sansa was and she hadn't demonstrated anything remarkable within Pentos during their stay. Her pregnancy was not even that visibly apparent. Yet she was congratulated by everyone she came across, and she received many gifts that came in fabrics and food. Podrick had tested them all for poison and weapons delightfully.

 

“A child is a gift,” a local woman explained in the marketplace. “We only ensure the best for our future, and our children's welfare is one way of doing so.”

 

Tyrion had been incredibly suspicious and worried from all of this attention, but he was put to ease when Brienne assured him that that was her role.

 

“You just keep her happy, yeah?”

 

Brienne was right, of course. It was highly likely that Tyrion’s stress could influence Sansa’s stress, and prophecy or no prophecy, it could have an affect on their child. He was much better as comfort for Sansa now than ever.

 

Sansa had become much more wistful and, dreamlike, almost, in the beginning of her pregnancy. Tyrion has no idea what growing a child in your own body is like and so he could only watch in fascination as Sansa would lift her skirts and caress her bare belly. This was Sansa’s second ever pregnancy, one that promises a child, and so that certainty must have made it incredibly different (not to mention the environment).

 

“Whenever I could find a moment to sleep in Winterfell, I dreamt of you on Joffrey’s nameday,” Sansa says without prompt one night. Tyrion assumes she was speaking of the time when she was married to the Bolton bastard, which both he and Sansa hadn’t spoken about in a long time.

 

“After the battle at Green Fork, you mean?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That was a miserable affair. I got knocked unconscious before the battle even begun.”

 

“I never knew that.”

 

“It wasn’t exactly the most arousing detail to whisper in your ear at night, my wife.”

 

Sansa ignores this remark as she lays next to Tyrion, and continues.

 

“You were the first person to give me any condolence.”

 

Sansa turns on her side and rests her hand on Tyrion’s rising and falling chest. “When I was in arguably the worst time in my life, my mind wandered to you.”

 

Tyrion turns to see Sansa had her eyes closed and hand tucked beneath her cheek. She is going to fall asleep atop the blankets.

 

“It's strange how we grow, isn't it?”

 

The first thing that comes to Tyrion’s mind is a memory of his young self pressing his side fully against a pillar every moonturn and praying to whatever God was listening to forgive him and let him grow so that a woman could love him. It turns out all he needed to do was open his heart, and here Sansa is.

 

“Yes, it is.”

 

* * *

 

 

“And do add that I'm sick and tired of her crooning over Tyrion. Does she know that most couples eventually outgrow from their little love nest? It's been two years and they're still going at it like wildlings.”

 

“I'm not adding that,” Gendry says resolutely.

 

* * *

 

 

There were many things Sansa refused to do while she was pregnant. She refused to ride, to drink and to fast.

 

One of the things she hadn't refused, however, was playing silly games with her husband to kill time.

 

“The Hound?” Sansa guessed.

 

“Wrong! Now,” Tyrion plucked from a bush an elderly man claimed to have grown especially for them, “eat this berry while I get another glass of wine for winning again.”

 

“I don't think those are the rules-”

 

Tyrion hushed Sansa by pressing two fingers to her lips. They laugh as Sansa pretends to bite them.

 

“At this rate our baby will be born purple with vines dangling from her arms,” Sansa remarked after eating her dozenth berry.

 

“A child of the forest, then.”

 

“It's my turn,” Sansa announces as she lays onto her back.

 

Sansa thinks for a long time and Tyrion nurses his wine as she does so.

 

“When you fell in love with me.”

 

“That's not how this works-”

 

Sansa presses her fingers against Tyrion’s lips. She can feel his smile before she drops her hand.

 

“Fine.”

 

Tyrion says, after a moment, “when you called me an idiot.”

 

“When was that?”

 

“When we reunited at Winterfell.”

 

“I didn't say that!”

 

“You might as well have.”

 

Then, Sansa says, after realizing “that was almost seven years ago now.”

 

“Yes, and-? “

 

“And you couldn't have possibly loved me for that long without saying anything.”

 

“What can I say? I didn't want to rush things. Take it slow. Playing hard to get.” Tyrion takes the last gulps of the wine. “I'm a very proper lady like that.”

 

“I think you're lying to flatter me.”

 

The two stare at each other facetiously before Tyrion sighs.

 

“You want to know the truth? Fine. I fell in love with you the first time you sucked my-”

 

For a pregnant woman, Sansa was very quick when it came to throw a pillow at Tyrion’s face.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon had finally sent a letter to Sansa. The envelope and paper had been grand. The letter was accompanied with a bouquet of roses for Sansa and a goblet for Tyrion.

 

In the letter, Jon had expressed that he loved Sansa dearly and truly as his family and that Tyrion was a valuable friend to him, and that he was happy they were with child. He promises to travel to Winterfell as soon as they do to celebrate the homecoming of his niece, and that his future as king will ensure that she would grow up prosperous.

 

For a moment after Sansa had finished reading, she thought of nothing. She knew she had to tell Tyrion as soon as he came home with Podrick in tow; the two had left to collect logs and Brienne stayed behind as guard. She also knew that she must write back as soon as possible to thank Jon for all the kind words and gifts.

 

But then she felt herself panic. She saw a flashing image of herself forcing her daughter to marry a terrible man, to be seperated from her husband and child over a war, to find her daughter despised her, and all the horrors she experience plague her own.

 

Sansa felt it difficult to breathe, because all that and then some must be on its way, because this time around she had direct relation to the crown. She was briefly horrified at the image of herself as Cersei, holding her dying babe.

 

Then she felt a kick.

 

Her panic had completely left her. She brought her hand to rest on her swollen belly.

 

It was as if her daughter had told her to shush her worries, and that all would be well.

 

After a moment, Sansa got up and took the bouquet to Brienne and Podrick’s room. She had offered it to them, and Brienne couldn't refuse.

 

* * *

 

 

They hadn’t slept together since Sansa discovered she was pregnant, and Tyrion hadn’t pushed her. Sansa felt uncomfortable with her swollen belly and it wasn’t that Tyrion stopped finding her attractive, he just preferred to lay with Sansa when she wanted him.

 

Suddenly, one night, Sansa had straddled Tyrion. She was hot and panting and dripping wet. Tyrion had fingered her gradually and with vigor, but Sansa begged him, gasping, to fuck her proper. Her words.

 

In the morning, they smelled like sweat, cum and arousal.

 

* * *

 

 

Bran had no idea what the baby’s name would be. All he saw was the baby, not names written on walls.

 

Arya suggested naming their babies by numbers. It doesn't enforce any ideals on the child and is also original.

 

Gendry suggested naming the baby after Catelyn. Bronn suggested naming the baby after Eddard. Jon didn’t like to think about naming conventions.

 

Podrick suggested names of flowers like rose, lily or tulip.  

 

“Haylise,” Brienne says one afternoon, “Haylise Stark.”

 

Sansa and Tyrion share a look. “That’s actually not bad.”

 

* * *

 

 

The healer they had consulted was completely wrong on the date.

 

Sansa’s water broke as they toured a market one afternoon. Their acquaintances from the local community had begun on a makeshift tent. Several mothers and healers gathered quickly to support Sansa through the birth. It was long, and painful, but Sansa found comfort with Tyrion staying unflinching by her side.

 

“This is happening,” Sansa gasped, sweat glistening on her skin.

 

“Yes, it is,” Tyrion affirms, choking on a sob.

 

The last thing Sansa sees before she faints is her husband cradling their newborn in his arms.

 

“By the Gods,” he muttered.

 

* * *

 

 

“You should have seen it,” Tyrion tells her after she woke up in their bed hours later.

 

“Brienne picked you up and carried you in her arms. The crowd made a wall around you and followed all the way home. There was so much noise I could faintly hear Haylise crying in my own arms. I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't there.”

 

Haylise was cradled in Sansa’s arms. Her hair seemed to be a fine blonde and she had not yet opened her eyes.

 

“I still can't believe it.”

 

“Sansa,” Tyrion says as he rubs her arm. She looks up into his eyes. “We're going home.”

 

* * *

 

 

When they arrive in Winterfell, Haylise could sit somewhat upright on Sansa’s lap.

 

As promised, King Jon was soon there and lit up the land with festivities. They were eating, drinking, dancing and singing. The Stark heir had been born.

 

Jon kneeled by Sansa when he met Haylise for the first time.

 

“Hello there,” he coos, presenting his finger to attract her attention, “how's my favorite niece doing?”

 

Haylise’s gaze seems to wander all around the room, but her little hands gravitate toward Jon. Her parents watch her fondly.

 

“She's very healthy and happy,” Sansa says.

 

“And constantly in awe,” Tyrion adds.

 

“Soon enough she'll be bigger than you,” Jon says in jest.  Haylise’s aimless flailing of her arms seemed to have been her trying, and succeeding, to grab her uncle’s finger.

 

“And stronger than you,” Tyrion chides.

 

Sansa glows for the whole night.

 

* * *

 

 

They eventually retire to their chambers for the evening, but are greeted by an unsuspected guest.

 

“May I see her?”

 

Bran’s voice is quiet but poignant in their room. Sansa, in her nightshift, and Tyrion, in his tunic, exchange glances. If Arya’s letters were true this would be the first time Bran had left godswood in a year.

 

“Yes, Bran, of course.”

 

Sansa leads him to Haylise’s cot. He leans over to see his niece is asleep peacefully. Tyrion holds Sansa’s hand as they wait for Bran to say anything.

 

To both of their surprise, Bran’s face breaks into an unmistakable smile.


End file.
